Seven Inches from the Midday Sun
by Oh Dee
Summary: There was something about being half-naked in a Laundromat on a hot summer day that made romance almost achievable.
1. Seven Inches from the Midday Sun

Honestly, there is little characterization, dialogue, or... much of anything. I was just doing laundry, singing "Smooth" by Carlos Santana, and wishing summer would arrive.

So, in preparation for the summer heat, I give you this. Enjoy and please, pretty please, review.

(And I've never lived in Spanish Harlem, but I'm sure it's a lot like the ghetto I live in in Manhattan.)

* * *

He did not go to the Laundromat on purpose.

In fact, it physically pained him to be there. If he had known that living in a studio apartment in the bustling ghetto of Spanish Harlem where the closest Laundromat was three and a half blocks away, he'd have renounced life altogether and hid in a cave somewhere in Central Park.

Or he'd had stayed home, in the quant little houses of Queens, New York, instead of venturing into the dangerous streets of Manhattan.

But he was there, now. There was nothing he could do, except perhaps give up his social life and live in his own filth forever, or until his landlord kicked him out for the stench. Somehow, he knew Ino would never let that fly, and he was Chouji's roommate; the least he could do was throw all his dirty things into a bag and haul it a few blocks to get it cleaned.

Shikamaru figured that the only real reason he was so positively grumpy was because it was blazing. He couldn't have been bothered to check the temperature, but he was sure that it was probably over 100 degrees plus humidity. Heat ripples had their own heat ripples; taking a shower was deemed unnecessary because once you stepped outside, sweat had already drenched your clothing in a puddle of _yuck_.

He hated summer.

And he hated Laundromats even more.

He fanned himself rather pathetically with one of the flyers the Laundromat kept on one of the counters. Everyone in the place sat languidly on the available benches, watching the clock tick its way into oblivion, waiting for their laundry to be done. He hated summer, he hated Laundromats, and he _hated_ watching time go by.

It was at that moment that _she_ walked in.

When Naruto and Kiba came around to visit Chouji and him, they'd always gawked at the eye-candy that seemed to thrive in the neighborhood of Latin beats. Especially in the summer. Something about humidity and near-Caribbean-heat-waves sent the women into an all-baring splendor. It was easier to count how many women kept their decency intact than to count how many did not.

And there was something about women and Laundromats that practically begged for indecent exposure.

_She_ was possibly the most gorgeous, terrifying, exotic thing Shikamaru had ever seen. Blonde hair, the color of straw (or the sun), piled into a messy bun at the top of her head, dangerously tan skin glistening with perspiration. The woman had strange eyes, like if someone had taken blue and green and ground them up together. Her chin jutted up a fraction of an inch, completely on purpose, as if she were constantly asking someone to defy her, just _dare_. She carried her laundry in a plastic bin, with her thongs and bras peeking out through lacey white shirts and short denims.

She caught him looking and flashed him a dangerous smile, all teeth bared, feral and frightening. She moved towards an empty washing machine, gracelessly dumped her things inside, and pushed a few quarters in.

"What're you looking at?" she asked, turning to stare at him.

Shikamaru was caught off guard. He looked up at her blankly, unaware of what to say. He could swear that almost the entire world had melted at those words, and she was the only thing remaining, calm, cool, and collected, even as the oppressive heat weighed everyone down and made them into puddles of sweaty human flesh and bones.

She stared at him a while longer before shrugging away, turning her head upwards to watch the ceiling fan continue its pathetic attempt in cooling the place down, a smile pulling at her lips.

* * *

The following week, he went back. There was less laundry this time and more of an excuse to see the exotic woman again. Ino said something about effort, but he ignored her for the most part.

Shikamaru was surprised to find her there, really. He'd been hoping to catch a look at her, if only to reassure himself that she was not only completely out of his league, but a total waste of time. He didn't actually expect to find her there, tan legs akimbo as she leaned against her washing machine.

"You're back," she said, and it made goosebumps rise along his skin, despite the summer heat that made sweat drip down his neck.

He tried not to pay too much mind to her but found it almost impossible, what with the way a sweat droplet made its slow descent along her neck, down to her collarbone, and then plummet its way between her breasts.

"It's rude to stare."

He scowled at her and threw his things into the washing machine beside hers. "Then you probably shouldn't wear tank tops that leave little to the imagination."

He heard her laugh. It was enough to send him into a mental state of aksdfkjasdf as he hurried to a corner, away from her, away from her skin, and away from the smile that graced her face.

* * *

Shikamaru didn't know what made him do it. Ino noted that he barely had anything in his laundry bag as he made it out of his apartment and down the three and a half streets to the Laundromat. He feigned disinterest when he saw _her_ sitting on a bench, a bikini top clearly visible beneath her skin-tight shirt.

"You should really think about wearing clothes," he said as greeting.

The corners of her mouth pulled downwards as she regarded him with half-lidded eyes. "And you should really stop trying to find excuses to come out to the Laundromat to see me."

It took all his willpower from flinching and gawking at her. Thankfully, his laziness for the past twenty-three years of his life meant he had a lot of reserve willpower at his disposal.

"I wasn't made to chase after a maneater like you. Frankly, I like my women meek and conservative."

He was shocked to see her visibly bristle at the insult. "At least you can fully acknowledge that your chances with me are nil."

"I hadn't even been thinking of my chances, but if you want to play, I doubt I would have really wanted to date you, anyway." Shikamaru pulled open the door of a washing machine, and without much consideration of separating his whites, blacks, and colors, threw them all in.

The woman's eyes, in all their brilliant glory, narrowed dangerously as she crossed her legs and glared down her nose at him. "Oh, trust me, you _would_ want to date me."

And by the way she said that, he had no doubt that indeed, he would.

She stood up suddenly, removed her things from the dryer, put them into her laundry bin, and walked out, her hips sashaying back and forth in the most hypnotic manner. He could almost feel the world slowly tumble off its axis as the door jingled closed behind her.

Shikamaru swore that the air around him dropped a few degrees.

* * *

This time, he made sure he was prepared. He stole some of Chouji's laundry, saying something about repaying his debt as a friend, and hurried to the Laundromat. She was already inside, watching the door, as if she'd been waiting for his arrival.

He ignored her completely, crossing straight to one of the washing machines. Some of the other regulars had decided to sit along the back, as if the front benches were reserved for the human Venus flytrap sitting in a skimpy skirt and dangling a flip-flop from her toe.

"You could just ask for my number."

He felt a shiver run down his spine at her words. He blamed the way her voice was low and seductive, raspy even, and the way his mind interpreted her every word as if she were actually saying his name.

"I could."

"I'd give it to you."

"I'm sure."

He heard her shrug. "Well, that's all I could really offer you anyway.

He turned around, taking in her sun-kissed skin and the glistening of her forehead. "Shikamaru," he said.

Her eyebrows furrowed together and her mouth quirked in confusion. "What?"

"My name is Shikamaru."

She stared at him for a few tensing moments before grinning.

"I'm Temari."


	2. One Week Since You Looked at Me

As Shikamaru soon discovered, it did not take a lot to anger Temari.

Her temper was more volatile then she was on a regular basis. Whether it was while doing laundry, cooking, or sex, she was quick to get upset and even quicker to make a scene. He should have figured it out the moment he'd first heard her speak, but he'd been hoping his masochistic tendencies wouldn't land him a crazy girlfriend.

Because that was what she was now. His girlfriend, that is. It had been two weeks since he'd gotten her number at the Laundromat and a week since they had started having sex all over his apartment. Her apartment was strictly off limits.

Which was what they were arguing about now.

"Ino is tired of seeing your underwear lying around."

Temari's eyes narrowed so quickly, Shikamaru almost stepped back out of the pure desire to live. Didn't all men prioritize life first and crazy, upset girlfriends second? "_What_?"

He sighed. This was going to end badly. "I said, Ino said—"

"I'm not deaf, I heard what you said," she snapped immediately, picking up her discarded underwear and stepping into it. He couldn't help but let his eyes linger on her form, observing the way she was lean and sinewy, carved perfectly by greater and far superior hands than the ones that had molded him.

"Don't tell me you're upset about this."

He probably shouldn't have said that.

Her mouth was pressed into a thin line that spelled out danger, but he hardly ever took heed of that or all the other tell-tale signs that said she was about to throw him out the window.

She cocked her head to the side. "Fine. I won't tell you that I'm _this close_ to punching you in the neck."

As much as he enjoyed spending time with the exotic creature, he found it tedious to bend to her every whim. She was brilliantly crazy, beautiful and psychotic, and strong enough to beat him at every physical endeavor anyone could possibly think of. He liked their conversations, liked the feel of her skin, and he especially enjoyed the way her lips were so terribly easy to claim. But he really, really, _really_ hated how angry she could get about everything.

"This is stupid," he sighed, lying back on his bed with his arms beneath his head. That way, he could watch as his girlfriend seethed and the smoke spiraled out of her ears and the room became as warm as he thought hell might be.

"Keep talking," she threatened, slipping into dangerously short shorts that barely covered her butt. Her skin still glistened from their earlier strenuous activity.

"Well, you can't really blame Ino. All we've been doing is having sex here; Chouji and Ino are afraid to come out in fear that they'll interrupt us. Can't we just go to your house?"

"No."

"It can't be any worse than this place."

"I said 'no'."

He shrugged. Fine, if that was how it was going to be, he would no longer argue about it. But he sure wasn't going to continue having sex if it meant his two best friends would have to spend the rest of their days starving in Chouji's tiny room without any air conditioner.

He only knew she had left because she slammed the door of his room and he heard her march through his apartment, screaming, "You can come out now!" toward the general direction of what was Chouji's room. A few seconds later, he heard the apartment door screech in protest as it was yanked open, and then a rather loud noise as it was thrown shut.

He couldn't help but laugh. In only one week, he had managed to have insane amounts of sex, talks of a future with a beautiful hazardous woman by his side, and his girlfriend walk out. Probably gave his dad a run for his money.

Besides, she was cute when she was mad. Probably all the more willing to kill him, but still extremely cute, which was something he never though the woman could achieve.

* * *

"Is she not coming back?" Ino asked during dinner a few days later, serving him pasta she had struggled to make. In the end, it was Chouji who did all the work, but Ino still pretended she was the one responsible for making anything edible in Chouji and Shikamaru's shared apartment.

Shikamaru shrugged and chose not to answer. Truth was, he had no idea if she _was_ going to come back. He guessed she had been pretty pissed off about Ino. And then there was the issue with her apartment. He hadn't any idea why she was so adamant in having him steer clear of it, but with her not answering his calls and ignoring his texts, his mind was starting to over analyze everything and the results weren't very good.

He figured she was ashamed of him. She probably lived with a few roommates, maybe the two brothers she kept talking about. Maybe she didn't want to introduce him, make things seem official. Maybe she was just keeping him around for the good fucks and hoping to find something better along the way, and instead of stringing him along, pretending to want to make him something permanent, she planned on discarding him easily and without any attachments.

It scared him how upset he got when he went down those paths of thoughts.

"Shika?"

He snapped out of it and looked at Ino, who stared at him with concern. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Chouji's hand poised in midair, holding a fork laden with pasta, waiting for Shikamaru to assure them everything was fine.

So he did.

* * *

After dinner, the friends wanted to drink. It was decided, after a game of rigged Jan-Ken-Pon, that Shikamaru was to go buy the drinks from their local grocery store. He didn't even bother arguing that it was unfair to change your hand after throwing a hand out. He simply stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked out, heading towards the grocery store on the corner.

He was surprised upon walking in to find Temari there, leaning against the counter, smiling at the guy behind the counter working the cash register. The older man, wrinkled and bald, flashed her such a genuine smile it made Shikamaru incredibly angry that such a grace was bestowed on the snotty, temperamental woman who deserved no such kindness.

In an attempt to ignore her, he trudged on. Of course, the old guy had to recognize him and call out his name.

"Shikamaru! Nice to see you again! Haven't been here in a while, eh?"

Shikamaru lifted his shoulders and tried to keep his eyes from straying. It didn't work out very well, seeing as the object of his affections (and frustrations) walked straight up to him and bent her head to meet his eyes.

"Are you ignoring me?"

He straightened up, glaring at her. "You're doing a fine job of that yourself."

She hadn't been smiling before, but at those words, her face twisted up into the familiar angry mask Shikamaru was becoming all too familiar with. "I'm angry at you."

He had a difficult time keeping from smiling, but then his earlier thoughts sneaked through and he was once again eager to get away from her. "Look, I just came here to get some beer."

"Why are _you_ upset?"

"Because you're acting like a child." He pushed right past her, straight down the aisle to grab a pack of beer.

"So are you!"

"How's your apartment? Still unavailable?"

She glowered at him before laughing, the fire in her eyes letting Shikamaru know she was merely laughing at his stupidity, and not because he was forgiven in any way, shape, or form.

"When you get over whatever it is you've gotten into your head, come find me." She pushed a note into his hand and walked away, leaving him standing there with a pack of beers and a ripped out paper that had her address scribbled on it.

* * *

It turned out, with surprising clarity, that the reason she didn't want him in her home was because… well, she was far better off than him and chances were he'd feel like shit sitting in the dark leather-seat couch in the huge living room she had, staring down his nose at her while she sat in a matching loveseat and drank wine out of a eighty dollar glass.

"Well?"

He rolled his eyes at her. He hated over-thinking things and then being proved wrong, and he especially hated over-thinking things that had someone nearly as smart as him prove him wrong and then goad him about it while drinking expensive wine and looking like a goddess in human form.

"Why didn't you return my calls?"

This time, her face matched his. She was back to being mad, he decided, as she set her glass down with a dangerous clink and her legs uncrossed.

"Because you're a jackass."

"I was just telling you that Ino—"

"She's in your apartment all the time and I don't complain about it!"

He took a steadying breath and placed his own glass down, careful to keep it from her reach. "She doesn't leave her thongs everywhere for others to see, Temari."

She flipped her hair back, allowing him to catch a clearer glimpse of her neck. In her apartment, where there was a central air conditioning, there was no chance for a stray drop of sweat to make its final trek down her neck. Still, just imagining it made Shikamaru shiver.

"She's just jealous she doesn't get as much sex."

He didn't want to say anything to disprove the theory, seeing as he was usually stealing Chouji's condoms for their romps, and it was taken from a very large pack that Shikamaru had been surprised to find.

"Fine," he said, standing up and dusting off his pants. He could feel her eyes drilling a hole into the back of his head as he turned away and walked towards her door. He couldn't stand being there any longer, not with the wine, not with her reasoning, and not with the lack of clothing she always seemed to wear.

In a moment, he felt the backs of his knees give out as he was tackled to the ground, his knees rubbing against the expensive carpeting. He winced in pain but quickly forgot about it altogether as he was turned around and Temari straddled him.

"Don't leave," she said, and her face descended, her lips puckered.

He didn't mind taking the blame.

* * *

They were back in his apartment. Temari was cuddled beside him, her long fingers playing across his chest, her nails scraping gently against his skin. Shikamaru looked down at her and then at the door, which was still open despite their little interlude. He could spot her bright thong strewn gracelessly on the couch, right in plain sight.

Ino was going to be pissed.

Temari stretched and rolled off, looking into the floor length mirror and admiring herself briefly before turning to him. "Could I borrow some boxers? I don't want to sleep naked."

He pointed at one of his drawers. "You can just use one of your own thongs. Ino was nice enough to do my laundry, which happened to include some of your things."

Shikamaru couldn't help but smirk when Temari opened his drawer and found more than a week's worth of her underwear in his drawer. She had carried around extra pairs in the beginning (which were usually removed nearly immediately after wearing them), which explained why his drawer was overflowing with lacey things.

She slowly looked back at him, her mouth pouting. "I guess I can see Ino's point." Without another word, she donned a pair, took one of his shirts, and slipped right back into bed with him.

He didn't bother poking her for an apology

Chances were she wasn't going to say sorry, anyway.

* * *

AN: I didn't intend on making a continuation but this came out of the blue so I thought... why not. Not sure if I'll do any more chapters/one-shots, but if I do, they'll be here. Don't review asking for an update, though, because there probably won't be one.


	3. If Perfect is What You're Searching For

It occurred to Shikamaru, during a dinner at home, that he was actually quite in love with the girl he met at the Laundromat. Logic, his closest friend, told him that it was much too soon to make such declarations, especially when the woman was feisty and a whole lot of trouble, but his heart let him know that the truth was plain and simple:

He was in love with Temari.

The woman in question looked at him from across the dining table, raising a slim eyebrow in question. He shook his head and concentrated on the ravioli she had managed to cook up, despite lack of prior experience.

They were dreadful, but Shikamaru could not bring himself to tell her so, as she seemed so very proud of her creation.

It was silent for a long time until the blonde beauty spoke.

"Do I look okay?"

The question surprised Shikamaru enough that he managed to choke on a piece of ravioli as he tried to sputter in response. Temari did not seem like an insecure woman, and in all the time he had gotten to know her (and he knew her _very_ well), she had never voiced any self-conscious concerns out loud. In fact, with the way she would stare into the mirror and smirk at her reflection, she was far more vain than most women.

"What?"

She frowned at his lack of sensitivity. "Do I look okay?"

"Where did that come from?"

She sucked her teeth and jabbed her fork at a lifeless ravioli that had stopped looking appetizing the moment she had decided to make it. "I don't know. Can't you just answer the question?"

Shikamaru, knowing that honesty was the best policy when it came to Temari, said exactly what he thought.

"You're amazing."

The answer did not make the frown disappear, however; instead, it only deepened, and she looked away from him, as if trying to hide.

"What's going on?" He could feel the edge of panic begin to creep into his voice. Knowing Ino for as long as he did, he knew that when women were fragile and sensitive, things did not ever bode well. And knowing that Temari was not a regular woman meant things could go terribly awry.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm being silly." She stood and pulled the plate away from him, even as he had been attempting to eat. "Let's order take-out; this tastes like shit."

"No—"

She flashed him a smile, and as dazzling as it was, he could tell it was forced.

"Don't even try. I just wanted to see how long you'd eat it for." She dumped the contents on the plates into the trash, picked up the phone, and dialed the nearest Chinese place.

When she hung up, she turned to face him again, hands gliding upwards to draw her shirt straps down her shoulders. "Want to see how long it'll take them to get here?"

He didn't even answer. Instead, he went straight to her, arms outstretched, as her shirt fell to the ground.

* * *

She was asleep in the crook of his arm. Shikamaru stared at her, tracing the lines he saw with his eyes, taking in the way moonlight and dim street lamps bathed her in an otherworldly glow. He thought about how in the city, it was near impossible to ever get a good glimpse of the stars, but since he had met her, he figured that he didn't need to see them, anyway. Her eyes could easily replace them. It was pathetic and cheesy, but he couldn't help it. He remembered the stars in Japan, and they dimmed in comparison to the pools he stared into day after day.

He looped a piece of her hair around his finger, the blonde strands catching what light streamed in through the windows. He could already picture her in the morning, her hair a bobbing mass above her head, absolutely uncontrollable, a force to be reckoned with. But he couldn't help but think that the way it fell around her shoulders, the way the curls refused to be tamed, the way he could tell just how good the sex was by the state of her hair, fit her perfectly, and he was unsure if he could ever imagine her having any other type of hair without it clashing with her personality.

And her smile. Besides the sweat glistening down her body, he was almost positive that the first thing that made him fall head over heels was that smile. It made the world go warm all over. The sun hid in shame. He was positive that when she smiled at him in public, everyone around them would stop and stare at her, marveling at the immense beauty and honesty that lay there.

He was hopeless.

Hopelessly in love.

She stirred suddenly, blinking with those glittering eyes, staring at him with slight confusion. "What are you looking at?"

"You."

"Why? Is there something on my face?"

"No."

Her eyebrows furrowed together. "What is it?"

"You're beautiful."

She snickered and patted his arm. "You're pathetic. Go to bed and stop staring at me like a creep."

"I'm being serious."

"Good night, Shikamaru." She turned away and closed her eyes.

"Tem."

She turned back. "It's like four in the morning."

"Five. I think you're beautiful."

"You've said that bit already."

"No, really. And I don't know what it was that made you feel all self-conscious—"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, "I am not self-conscious."

"—But you shouldn't change a thing about you. You're… perfect."

"This is the most you've ever spoken to me," she joked.

"I'm allowing my pathetic and romantic part reveal itself to you. You're perfect, just the way you are."

"Even my hips?"

"They're wonderful."

"My laugh?"

"I think it's sexy."

"…Do you love me?"

He didn't even hesitate in the answer,

"Yes. I love you."

"Oh." She propped herself on one elbow, facing him fully, her lips already pouting into a kiss. "That's good. I love you, too."

"And you know you're beautiful."

She ignored him, moving in for the kiss.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her back for a moment. "Look at me. You're beautiful."

She snorted and shook him off, planting a wet kiss near his mouth. "Okay, okay, I believe you. But don't let that stop you from letting me know every now and then." She moved down to his collarbone, her hand already working at the shirt he wore.

As he let her divest him of his clothing, he made an agreement with himself. Temari, despite being a wholly self-confident woman well aware of her good looks, was like any other human being: prone to moments of vulnerability. He would, occasionally, have to reassure her that she was devastatingly gorgeous and capable of bringing a blind man to his knees. He would, occasionally, have to remind himself that just because she was beautiful did not mean she would accept the compliment easily, for she probably held herself to far higher standards than she did others. And as her boyfriend, as the man who was in love with her, he would have to tell her that if she was seeking perfection, she didn't need to change a thing. For she was perfect to him, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

I : Smooth, Carlos Santana

II : One Week, Barenaked Ladies

III : Just the Way You Are, Bruno Mars

Just in case you haven't figured it out yet, this is kind of a collection of songfics. Except without the italicized lyrics and the shitty plots that follow the words line by line.

I lied. I totally do the last part.

If I hear a really good song and get an idea, I'll update this. Until then, leave me alone. Or at least read and review How the Prince Met the Girl, because reviews make me happy and this has totally been a really bad summer and I'm pathetic.

And if you think I was trying to make you feel guilty: totally was.


End file.
